


Come On Leave Me Breathless

by ashes0909



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Clint likes when Bucky shuts him up, Gags, Getting Together, Gloves, Kinks, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, POV Clint Barton, like a lot of orgasms, winter soldier mask
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-10-24 12:44:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20706218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashes0909/pseuds/ashes0909
Summary: Bucky had just killed a man, a man that very much wanted to kill them too, while using his entire body to shut Clint up. It shouldn’t be hot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heuradys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heuradys/gifts).

> This is my first MTH fic, for Heuradys, who wanted some kinky Clint/Bucky. I hope you enjoy. Thank you for your inspiring ideas!
> 
> The alternate summary was going to be these lyrics from The Corrs Breathless:  
_So go on, go on_  
_Come on leave me breathless_  
_Tempt me, tease me_  
_'Till I can't deny this_  
_Loving feeling_  
_Let me long for your kiss_  
_Go on, go on_  
_Yeah come on_
> 
> Also, as a warning, in this chapter a character briefly uses hateful language. 
> 
> I plan to update weekly! As always, thank you festiveferret for the beta. <3

“It looked just like him,” Clint told Bucky, but his gaze remained on the retreating form. They were standing outside the bar, about to head back to the Tower when the face that was smeared on every Most Wanted alert sauntered by them like he wasn’t on the run, like there couldn’t be two Avengers sharing a drink and walk ready to apprehend him at any moment. 

The sounds of the street were muffled even with Clint's hearing aides in, but he read Bucky’s skepticism loud and clear. It was written in the way his left eyebrow raised and his eyes shone in the bar’s streetlight. The rain had waned for the afternoon, leaving a chill that almost broke through the layers of his sweater. Bucky stepped into the street, still near Clint, but looking down the alley for the man Clint had spotted.

“Should we follow?” Bucky asked with a taunting tone, like he was still indulging Clint, and Clint was having none of it. He answered by brushing past Bucky, bracing his foot on the nearby dumpster and propelling himself up onto the roof. He crouched low immediately, knowing that Bucky could still see him in the shadow. 

“If you can keep up,” he replied, the thrill of the chase already kicking up his adrenaline. 

“I’m not sure if you even saw anything, but you’re already jumping up onto rooftops.”

“What can I say?” Clint smirked, knew Bucky could see it even through the dark night. “I’ve always been an overachiever--” 

“You have?” Bucky shouted up.

“--now are you going to stay down there or come on a wild goose chase with me? You always love goose.”

“What?” Bucky crossed his arms. “How’d you land on poultry?”

“Did you see my dismount? It’s a skill. Now I’m going after this guy because he blew up a hospital just because it was housing his arch nemesis. That’s pretty damn evil in my book.”

Clint heard Bucky laugh before he took off. The bomber hadn’t been walking with purpose, and Clint caught up to him after he jumped a couple rooftops, then he lost him. It was around that time Bucky pulled up next to him with a light shove to Clint’s side. 

“Man, you made me lose him.”

Bucky raised another skeptical eyebrow. “I can hear people in the alley. Friday night, there’s half a dozen people mulling about. Are you sure it was even him? ”

“I’m sure, I’m serious.”

Bucky nodded, pressing his lips together like he had more to say but was deciding not to say it. 

Clint had to admire the man’s ability to make him want to wring his neck without even saying a word. He didn’t really want to hurt Bucky--as if he even could--but the thought of shaking some sense into him was more than appealing. 

Or maybe he could shock him and kiss the shit out of him out of nowhere. That would at least kill two birds by surprising him for once, and finally getting to know what the man tasted like. Not that he thought about that. Much. At the very least, it wasn’t something that he should be thinking about right now. 

“Which way did he go then?” Bucky asked after they hopped side by side to another rooftop.

Clint pointed north and Bucky turned east, jumping a rooftop and following an alley that had begun near where Clint last saw the man. “Think we’ll need backup?” Bucky asked. 

“You didn’t even believe he existed a second ago.”

“Better safe--”

There was a noise and they both stopped short, Clint bumping into Bucky’s side. Bucky turned his head sharply, bringing his finger to his lips, his face wiped expressionless now that he believed Clint.

They both surveyed their surroundings. “If he were me I’d go into that factory right there. Plenty of cover, could be holding backup,” Bucky said, leaning close. 

Excitement bubble in Clint’s chest. Now that Bucky was taking him seriously, the two of them were on the mission, and ever since Bucky’d joined up with the Avengers, Clint found himself wanting to be by his side in whatever capacity. He couldn’t keep the exuberation from causing a skip in his step as he gestured towards the factory and asked, “Shall we?”

As soon as they slipped through the warehouse door, they found themselves in an open, empty garage and Clint immediately felt on display, every angle visible to any passerby, let alone anyone who was actively checking their tail. He and Bucky pressed against the sidewall as one, flattening into the shadow. Clint couldn’t hear a thing but that didn’t mean much. He smacked at Bucky’s arm lightly and gestured to his ears, a universal sign for, “Can you hear anything?” 

Bucky shook his head. They moved slowly to the door in the corner, the only place it looked like their guy could’ve went...assuming he’d even entered the warehouse. Bucky opened the door, carefully keeping it quiet, and Bucky slipped in. There were two pathways, one a hallway with an electronic lock that needed a scanner ID key and another door to their right. It was clear that wasn’t the main route, and probably not the way their man went, but it was the way that was going to get them through without hacking through the lock.

On the other side of the door wasn’t a room but a utility space that wrapped parallel to the hallway. There were long lines of pipes and wires with diameters larger than Clint’s head running against the wall, warming and powering the place. The walkway was narrow, and Bucky went first, Clint pressing behind him. As soon as Bucky took a step forward, Clint pressed in close again.

“I don’t think there’s anyone nearby,” Clint whispered. He kept voice low, though, just in case. He found the strength that seeped from Bucky’s sturdy frame reassuring. 

“We don’t know that,” Bucky replied, gruff and equally as quiet. 

Clint chuckled. “Of course we don’t  _ know  _ that. We’re superheroes not fortune tellers. I have met a few fortune tellers, though. One I met in the 90s--” 

His next words were stolen by Bucky’s bare hand pressing against his mouth. “I hear something,” Bucky whispered, lips close to Clint’s ear, breath brushing against the sensitive skin. Clint swallowed behind Bucky’s hand, but he made no move to remove it. Neither did Bucky. His mind fixated on the thought, until Bucky applied even more pressure, shifting closer and making their legs slot together. “There’s definitely someone there,” Bucky whispered. 

It wasn’t easy to suppress his shudder from the breathed words against his ear, but Clint managed. 

But by the way Bucky smirked, Clint thought that, maybe, he’d still been obvious. Especially for someone trained so well, who knew Clint so well, too. 

Clint didn’t need Bucky to tell him when the bomber came into view. He walked right into Clint’s line of sight, and Bucky tensed against him. 

The man lifted an eyebrow, then he took a half step back and sneered. “What are you two cocksuckers up to over there? Fucking perverts, can’t even wait to get behind doors to get your dicks out.” Clint’s blood started to boil under his skin, he was itching to do something, but Bucky was still pressed against him close, backing him into the wall, his hand still clamped against his mouth. 

It happened in a flash and in slow motion, the man’s sneer turned to pure hatred and he reached for his gun. “You fa--” The slur died in the bomber’s mouth as a bullet entered the center of his forehead. 

Clint felt a little faint when he dragged his gaze away from the now dead man to the man slotted against him. The gun looked like an extension of his metal arm; a perfect shot even though the angle was off...because he was pressed against Clint. The ringing in his ears was muffled by the hearing aides but it was still there, high pitched and disorienting. Bucky had just killed a man, a man that very much wanted to kill them too, while using his entire body to shut Clint up. It shouldn’t be hot.

Bucky read him like an open book, Clint knew, because his smirk had turned cocky around the edges. Clint couldn’t even figure out what about it he found hot. He should have been annoyed that Bucky was trying to make him stop talking, using his strength and skill to control Clint.

But he wasn’t annoyed. Bucky was so close, and when he moved his thigh against Clint’s cock, he knew Bucky was touching him intentionally, and it lit a fire of arousal in his veins, making his cock twitch against Bucky’s leg. 

“We should go.” Bucky still hadn’t removed his hand.

Clint closed his eyes and nodded, only then did Bucky drop his palm and move away, leaving Clint to shiver and immediately miss his weight, because it felt like they’d been pressed together for far longer than a handful of minutes. Clint could still feel the ghost echo of Bucky’s hand against his mouth, and he was pretty sure “a  _ handful  _ of minutes” had just fundamentally changed everything he knew about his own desires.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor warning for Clint semi-involving his friends in his discoveries - see end note for more details.

**APRIL**

Clint was an expert in compartmentalization. 

Usually. 

Since that evening a week ago at the warehouse, only one thought had rolled around in his mind, finding every nick and corner to attach and grow itself in. The memory of Bucky’s hand pressed over his lips invaded his thoughts. It was inescapable, when he was in his bed, in the shower, even sitting in a perch, he thought about it. 

It had never been something he was into before, having someone gag him or take control of him like that. 

Was it a gag thing, or a Bucky thing? 

Was it a control thing, or a Bucky thing? 

He had no idea but he intended to find out. “Nat,” Clint began as soon as he walked into the living room. “Nat. Nat.” 

His target was sitting cross-legged on a stool by the kitchen island eating what looked to be like leftover lasagna for lunch. “Barton,” she greeted, tone already dripping in suspicion. He kept walking closer to her, until he was within arms reach, perched over her shoulder. “NatNatNatNatNatNa--” A hand trained to kill shot out and landed hard over his mouth cutting off his ability to further annoy her. 

Mission Accomplished.

Natasha’s hand was firm against his mouth but unlike last time, with Bucky’s hand, right now he just felt, well...silly, leaning over Nat’s shoulder as she shut him up.

When he pulled away her eyes were narrowed, and while he knew the behavior wasn’t the most normal, he had hoped to fly under the radar. He pulled on his most winning smile and winked. “Missed you, Nat.” 

“I saw you yesterday, Clint.” She pushed back from the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “Something’s up with you.”

Clint shrugged, still keeping the air light between them. “Maybe so, maybe not.” He nodded to her hand where it now rested by her plate of lasagna. “Thanks for the hand.”

That made her brow furrow with confusion, which caused a thrill of satisfaction to run up his spine, because it wasn’t often he surprised Natasha. “You’re so strange,” she commented. 

“Yup,” he agreed, popping the P between his lips. “There anymore of that lasagna?”

It wasn’t until he was midway through his portion that he realized there was a figure in the living room that opened up towards the kitchen. Sprawled out on the couch with his legs out long, completely visible but stone still, so that Clint hadn’t even picked up on his presence. But he was there, had been there, when Clint had been taunting Nat. Clint’s mouth was full of lasagna, but he froze midchew at the sight of Bucky’s gaze fixed on him. His face was blank but Clint knew there were a thousand thoughts spinning wheels beyond those calculating eyes. Clint swallowed. “Sup, Buck?”

A grin shouldn’t have the power to heat Clint’s skin, but Bucky’s did. Apparently. 

Bucky sat up, head tilting to his side. “Was there something you needed to tell Natasha, when you came in here calling her name?” His tone was innocent, curious, not at all sounding like the devious prick he was. “Seemed important.”

“Yeah, Clint,” Natasha cut in. “What was it?”

Clint took his time chewing his bite of lasagna, swallowing, and wiping his mouth on the kitchen towel he’d grabbed for a napkin. “Oh nothing,” he replied, smiling at Nat through clenched teeth before glaring at Bucky. “Just being generally annoying.”

Natasha snorted, Bucky lifted an eyebrow and Clint shoved more lasagna in his mouth.

**MAY**

Clint thought that’d be it, that he’d chalk it up to a fluke and his mind would find something else to obsess about, maybe a new mission or trashy reality TV show. But the weeks went by and every time, late at night, when he let his hand and mind wander to far more erotic places, the memory would slip in among the rest. 

Tonight, after he finished, he pulled the nitrile glove off his hand--easy clean up for the lube and he liked the way it felt against his skin. As it hit his wastebasket Clint leaned against his pillow and closed his eyes. Something about that night, it always made his heart race, like even a brief brush of the memory could transport him back into Bucky’s arms--the adrenaline sparking between them, the danger, huddling so close their legs intertwined--it wasn’t his most salacious memory, heck they'd both had their clothes on the entire time, but it never failed to make him go off like a match struck hard and fast. 

Maybe it was the adrenaline. Less about the hand-to-mouth and more to do with the circumstance. Maybe he needed to add some risk into the equation, some danger. 

The next day, Clint found himself agreeing to Steve’s offer to join him at the gym. That alone wasn’t unusual, but when he suggested sparring, it wasn’t surprising that Steve’s eyebrows rose in shock. Usually Clint sparred with Nat but that didn’t mean the suggestion should be totally out of left field. Clint straightened his stance so he reached as close as he could to Steve’s height. “Sparring against supers is a whole ‘nother ballpark. Gotta practice that too.”

Steve nodded. “I know that. Haven’t I been telling you that for months now?”

“Oh?” Clint smirked. “Must not have heard you, Cap.”

Steve actually rolled his eyes, and Clint couldn’t help but snort in his face. Then he brought his smart alec attitude to the mats. They danced around each other in a circle, fists up, until Steve made a first move, charging forward and easy enough for Clint to dodge. He did and spun quick to punch Steve in the back near his kidney. “Mine as well put out a billboard that says, Attack Incoming, Cap.”

Steve smiled wide from the other end of the mat then moved quick as lightning, sliding across the mat to swipe out Clint’s legs. Clint jumped, flipping over and back on to his feet, hands up to block Steve’s hit. “That the best you got?” Clint goaded, and continued to goad. An unrelenting buzz in Steve’s ear fueled by Clint’s adrenaline. Soon Steve was holding back just a little less than usual, and Clint found himself using every tool at his disposal, including his teeth. 

It wasn’t until Steve’s hand slapped against his mouth that Clint realized that maybe, possibly, he’d been goading Steve into this exact moment the entire time. Clint’s moral compass always did point a little crooked. He needed to know if it’d be anything like before with Bucky, if that was a fluke or a pattern or something more.

Steve’s hand covering his mouth against another wayward bite, was nothing more than an obstruction to his breathing. Having Steve Rogers--heartthrob of America--on top of him wasn’t nearly as exciting as that passing thought of Bucky pressed against him. And  _ fuck, _ what sort of thought was that? It made him flinch, and Steve rolled off of him, already poised with his fists up as Clint flipped up, back onto his feet, dodging Steve’s next punch. 

They danced in a circle, Clint waiting for an opening, looking out for a strike. He was thrown when Steve stepped back and lifted an eyebrow, eyes raised higher than anywhere Clint could strike. 

The room was made so they could simulate planetary invasion scenarios. On various levels were catwalks that wrapped around the room, but Clint couldn’t see beyond the first. “What are you doing up there?” Steve asked the darkened ceiling. 

There was no one on the first level.

“Just watchin’,” Bucky called back down. Clint tripped over his feet, but recovered quickly, especially when Steve’s focus returned to him.

Clint didn’t have to wonder how long Bucky had been watching from a perch above. He’d seen Clint’s antics, Clint knew. Whether Bucky knew what Clint’s actions _meant_ was anyone’s guess, but if Bucky did, maybe he could tell Clint. Because he wasn’t so sure himself.

**JUNE**

The thing was, the sensation of a hand over his mouth became a familiar one once June rolled around. He’d been jerking off almost every night with his palm firmly fixed on his own mouth. The other one, wrapped in a glove, and Clint found himself  _ definitely _ not imagining the texture to be metal instead of nitrile, teasing at his hole. Even if his palm failed to spark anywhere near the amount of arousal he'd felt in that too damn small hallway with Bucky, it still acted as enough of a reminder, and helped him spill over the edge easier than anything else ever had. Clint had accepted this over the weeks. 

It had become familiar that when Tony Stark slapped a hand over his mouth, Clint barely startled. 

“Were you just about to stick that arrow in your mouth?” Tony’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“Maybe?” he mumbled, almost coherent through Stark’s palm.

Stark shook his head, removing his hand. “No bitey bitey.”

Clint looked at the arrow in his hand. It was a long familiar shape, one he’d often stick between his teeth and chew on when he was working out a problem. Of course, his arrows were usually made of wood and, thus, not a problem.

Stark’s triple reinforced, electric zap arrows were another story entirely. Stark was still standing over his shoulder, trying not to laugh and looking at Clint with a face full of disbelief. “There’s a defibrillator in here, Barton.” Stark pointed to a case near the far wall of his workshop. “Don’t make me use it.”

When he stepped away, Clint was slammed in the face with the reveal of Bucky, sitting on the raggedy workshop couch, metal arm open with half a dozen diagnostic tests running. His lazy smirk caught Clint’s eye and it only deepened when Clint couldn’t look away. 

Bucky liked him watching. Right? That had to be it, because why else would he be flexing his open metal palm, drawing Clint’s eye to it. He’d been sitting there the whole time, he must have seen Tony’s hand slap over his mouth and what hardly meant anything in the moment, meant something more now. Bucky shifted. Was it only in his imagination, the way his legs parted a hair?

Tony came back around, blocking the view of Bucky again as he gathered up the arrows and put them in the case he’d brought over. He was explaining proper maintenance and care and Clint did his best to listen, not at all thinking of the fit man on the couch wearing a smirk on his lips that Clint had put there. 

“---And that’s it.” Tony clapped his hands together. “You know where to find me if you have any questions.” Tony winked, patting Clint’s shoulder. “Till next time, Robin Hood.” And Clint had no real reason to stay, especially not to watch Bucky’s hands flex open and closed, so he walked to the door with a wave. 

Clint knew it’d be another night with his palm. Palms. He felt the echo of Bucky’s hand pressed against his mouth as much as he felt his heavy gaze following Clint as he walked out of the workshop. Adrenaline rushed his pulse and it was almost like he was back in that narrow hallway, except, this time, he’d have to make do with phantom sensations of what only, apparently, Bucky could spark under his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Clint goads his friends into touching him in a way he's not sure he will consider sexual, to test it out. The touch itself is not inherently sexual.


	3. Chapter 3

“I know what you’ve been doing.” 

Clint wasn’t startled by his words. Bucky had said them intentionally loud and clear, but it was unnecessary, Clint didn’t get startled by Bucky anymore. No, by midsummer Clint knew where Bucky was at all times, it seemed. As soon as Clint walked into a room, Bucky was the first person he sought out. 

The thing was, Bucky usually already had his eye on Clint, in return. Their connecting gaze would be so uncomfortable Clint could only really hold it for a second, before he was forced to look at Nat or Cap or someone to change the subject of a silent conversation no one else was part of but him and Bucky.

But now there was no Nat or Cap to change the subject with, no one to distract them from this conversation that Clint knew needed to happen, the conversation he knew he wasn't going to be able to avoid from the moment he saw Bucky smirking silently behind Natasha back in April. Bucky had watched Clint bait everyone into shoving a hand over his snarky mouth. Who knew what else he'd seen? Clint sometimes imagined him in the vents in the corner of his bedroom, watching him on top of the sheets, with one hand gripping his cock and the other trying to recreate a moment confined to his erotic history, seared in his brain for the rest of time. 

"You know what I’ve been doing? I've been making breakfast," Clint replied lamely, dropping Bucky's gaze and moving past him to the fridge. Bucky let him, but he didn't let him out of the conversation. He came to stand by the stove next to Clint, pressing his palms against the counter and hoisting himself up onto its surface. Clint watched as Bucky settled himself on the countertop next to the stove, head rolling against the cabinet above. The long tendons of his neck stretched and pulled. Bucky's brow furrowed, the tenseness pushing at his shoulders. 

When Bucky’s eyes blinked closed, Clint took it as an opportunity to look without care, the plump lips pressing together and catching his eye. Bucky's tongue came out and licked his lips; Clint flicked his eyes back to Bucky, unsurprised to see them now open. 

He'd been played. 

"Like I said." Bucky smirked, and Clint was helplessly drawn to it. "I know what you've been doing."

Clint felt the tops of his cheeks warm, shuffling from one foot to another as he pushed around scrambled eggs that had grown far too dry in the pan. Shutting off the stovetop was an easy distraction, making Bucky move so he could pull out two plates was even easier than addressing the other man's words. He thought maybe Bucky would get the message, maybe he'd walk around the kitchen island and pull out a barstool, wait for breakfast like this was any other morning. 

The last of the eggs was on the plates when he felt Bucky's torso brush his back. Clint froze as Bucky dragged the rough scruff of his cheek against Clint's, stopping only when his lips pressed faintly to Clint's ear. "There's a reason you can't find what you need from your tricks and games," Bucky whispered as his hands came to rest on Clint's hips, but only the metal one stayed there long, his other moved up Clint's side, coming to tease along the collar of the back of his shirt, stroke up along the sensitive skin of his neck. "You're looking for something. And you're not going to find it from anyone--" his fingers came up the curve of his jaw, playing now with his lips.

Clint's heart raced, but nothing else moved because everywhere Bucky touched lit a fire under him and he didn't want it to stop, he wanted it to build and build until it exploded like it did that night when they were pressed so close Clint thought he could get off from the man's thigh alone. 

Clint couldn't help the gasp against Bucky’s touch, when he let one finger turn to three then four, pressing against his lips, shutting off his ability to make any noise at all. Bucky moved so slowly, the food forgotten along with the knowledge that they were in the common floor and at any moment anyone could walk in, but none of it mattered because Bucky moved until four became palm and his whole hand was over Clint's mouth, pressing him against Bucky’s chest. “Not going to find it from anyone else but me.”

_ Yes _ . Clint moaned around Bucky’s hand, because  _ this  _ was the feeling he’d been trying to find. This strength, this certainty, this overwhelming inability to do anything other than what Bucky wanted in that moment. 

“You know where to find me, when it’s late at night and you need someone to give you a hand.” Bucky's hot breath hit his ear, and then it was gone. All of it, the heat and the pressure, vanished between shuddered breaths. Bucky pulled away, the clang of the plate as he grabbed his eggs off the counter startling Clint back to the here and now. The adrenaline still coursed through him but now it mixed with the heavy rush of embarrassment. He didn’t even fully understand it, only knew that the sight of Bucky eating forkfuls of eggs like nothing had changed in the last five minutes--eggs that Clint had made nonetheless--looking like none of it affected him at all, it made him just as hard as the palm pressed to his mouth. 

“Yours are going to get cold,” Bucky broke through his haze, gesturing towards the other plate and Clint grabbed it on autopilot, willing his erection away as he slid into the seat across from Bucky. 

Bucky, who was smirking at him like he always did. Except now it seemed completely livewired to his cock. “Eat up,” Bucky said again. 

Clint did. They both finished their plates in relative silence, Bucky beating him to it with a wink and a, “see you later,” like he hadn’t just propositioned Clint in the kitchen. 

And then he was gone.

Clint sat alone in the kitchen and tried to right himself in the head. There was a part of him--a rushing under his skin, a buzzing in his brain--that wanted to follow Bucky and see if maybe he could help Clint figure out what was going on with him and his dick’s complete fixation on Bucky. 

Nothing had worked lately. His favorite fantasies, go-to porn, anything that he tried to focus on faded away to the feel of a hand pressing into his mouth. And even then, it was never enough. 

He pushed away from the kitchen counter and used his excess energy to clean both of their plates. A part of him wanted to follow Bucky and another part needed to move, buzz. The energy was building and he let it take him to the elevator. When the doors closed he considered pressing the button for the gym, where he knew he could run or punch or shoot it all away, or the button to his apartment. 

He jammed on the one that would take him to his bed. 

The walk to his bedroom was a blur; he only stopped long enough to get a pair of gloves and lube from the nightstand before he was rolling on his sheets. 

Bucky had been standing so close, he could almost make himself relive the heat against his back as he pulled the purple nitrile gloves over his hands. He followed with lube in a familiar routine, bringing the purple nitrile to a bright shine before he lowered it to his cock. Clint loved the feel of the nitrile over his sensitive skin. It had started as a way to keep slippery lube off of his hands after one SHIELD mission got called out mid-stroke. Lube and his bow had not mixed, and from that day on he’d always kept something between his hand and the smooth substance. The purple nitrile gloves were a useful find one late night while online shopping. 

He gripped hard, wanting to run all thoughts out of his mind and just feel. He wanted to forget Bucky’s sure words, how it felt to have him pressed behind him after weeks and weeks of imagining him pressed up against Clint’s front. 

Fuck, just the memory of it. He knew Bucky had his eye on him, and just the thought of him watching Clint try and get everyone else to slap a hand over his mouth caused a surge of hot shame to surge through him. Bucky had seen, Bucky had known. Did Bucky imagine him on the sheets like this, one hand wrapped around his cock and the other inching up towards his own face? He wouldn’t know to imagine the purple gloves, but knowing Bucky, he’d probably figured that little kink out too. 

Clint slid his palm over his mouth as he stroked faster and faster, cupping the tip of his cock then gripping even harder as he twisted the nitrile around his cock as he stroked back down. “Fuck,” he moaned. Bucky’s name was on his lips but only the shadow of him was in this room with Clint, and he was coming to realize that the feeling he wanted, he wasn’t going to be able to replicate. Not with others, not on his own. 

His cock shot over his nitrile gloves, strand after strand of white breaking up the bright purple. 

The pleasure rode through his body but faded just as quickly. 

He wanted Bucky.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going up a little later than I planned but it's almost three-times as long, so I hope you forgive me! Also, mind the Explicit rating. :D

Now that Clint knew what he wanted, and knew that Bucky was aware that something was going on in his head and with his body that he couldn’t quite shake, it was hard not to fixate on it. He’d just come into his hand, and still he was tossing and turning. 

_ “You know where to find me, when it’s late at night and you need someone to give you a hand.” _

Clint wasn’t quite sure why he was resisting the draw to Bucky. Bucky had come on to him, and Clint had been fixated on the mystery of Bucky’s hand on his mouth for months, even if it wasn’t really a mystery anymore. He’d known exactly what he wanted, to recreate that night in the warehouse, without the pig-headed, bigoted bad guy. From the moment Bucky had pressed himself up against Clint, he’d known. It was why he found himself waiting outside Bucky’s door, not even a week after Bucky cornered him in the kitchen. 

But now that he was here, he was unsure. What if he read this wrong? What if Bucky thought he was a freak for wanting? He shifted his weight from foot to foot,and almost turned away when the door opened in front of him. Bucky was there, eyes narrowed with a furrow. “I could hear you thinking through the door.”

“Oh yeah?” Clint replied, skepticism dripping from his words, heart immediately beating in overdrive, as he pushed past Bucky into his living room. Bucky could hear his shifting feet through the thin wooden door, but he couldn’t actually hear his thoughts, superserum or not. “What was I thinking, then?”

“Nothing good.” Bucky closed the door behind him. “You look like a man on a mission.”

“Yeah,” Clint began under his breath. “Mission impossible.” 

“Oh?” Bucky walked around him, leading them to the couches that framed a coffee table. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Most impossible situations seem to bend into possibility, if you try hard enough.” When Bucky sat down, Clint slid into the seat across from him, unsure if he could bear Bucky’s presence so close. The man had been the subject of his fantasies for months now, and the lines between reality and fantasy seemed to blur in Clint’s head when he was around Bucky. 

Clint ran his hands up and down his thighs, pressing them between his legs. He looked at Bucky, then away, wishing more than anything that he’d break the silence first. 

“Wanna…” Clint gestured towards the television.

“You came up here to watch TV?” his voice was low, rough, and it set to life sparks along Clint’s spine. 

Clint swallowed. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.” Bucky leaned back against the couch, arms spread wide over the back of it and Clint’s eye was drawn to the way it broadened his chest. He heard a satisfied sound that Clint knew would be accompanied with a smirk. “Look at me.” 

Clint raised his eyes, pulse racing until he met Bucky’s gaze and then his breath caught. 

“Are you here for what I think you’re here for?”

Clind nodded.

“Good.” Bucky stood, Clint’s eyes aligned with his crotch until above him a throat cleared. Only after Bucky had his focus again did he start walking out of the living room in the direction of a hallway Clint knew led to the bedrooms. Same floor plan as his own apartment, yet it felt entirely different, three floors down. Before he reached the hallway, Bucky turned to look at him over his shoulder. “You coming?”

Clint stumbled onto his feet, crossing the living room in three long strides. Bucky opened the door and stepped back, letting Clint enter his bedroom first. 

Only a moment, just enough time to think, “Oh my god, this is really happening,” before the door was pushed closed and Clint was spun and pressed against the hard surface, Bucky’s hands gripping his hips hard. 

“This what you wanted?” Bucky hissed, his whole body pressing against Clint, and he didn’t have to say anything more for Clint to know exactly what Bucky was referring too. But that didn’t stop Bucky from continuing, straight into Clint’s ear, “Close together. Rubbing against you. You’re unable to move--” His hand slid up Clint’s side, across his chest. It made his muscles dance under the touch, and he couldn’t help gasping when Bucky scraped his nail across his nipple. Light drags of fingertips across his neck, and then Clint couldn’t breathe, because he knew what was coming next. Bucky knew that he knew, and it was like he was stretching the moment out, hovering until Clint couldn’t stand it. He forced himself to meet Bucky’s gaze. His eyes were dark, blown with arousal and focused on Clint like he was the most interesting thing Bucky had seen in his long life. 

Then, he lowered his palm over Clint’s lips. 

“Yeah,” Bucky whispered, and Clint’s eyes rolled back in his head before Bucky even applied any pressure. When he finally did, Clint’s hips rocked forward, his blood rushed south. This was what he’d been waiting for: the perfect sized hand, able to wrap around Clint, calluses pulling at his lips, making the skin spark and tingle. Bucky shifted impossibly closer so that Clint couldn’t move his hips anymore. Clint knew he must feel his cock, eager to rub along the new pressure. He threw his head back, let it hit the wood, then Bucky’s lips were at his ear. “Just like this, wasn’t it? You didn’t care about anything else in that moment except how I felt against you. Isn’t that right?” Clint stared at him, unable to reply until Bucky moved his thigh and bit at his ear. “You can answer by moving your head.”

Clint breathed in Bucky’s closeness and nodded.

“That’s right. A whole marching band could’ve gone by and you would’ve been more invested in avoiding going off in your pants. Isn’t that right?”

Clint flushed at his words but still, he nodded.

Bucky’s smile was something he’d never seen before, tinted with a predatory smugness. “Maybe we should do something about your pants. Do you want to take them off?”

Clint paused for a moment, wondering what it was Bucky wanted--but that wasn’t what Bucky asked. He’d asked what Clint wanted, so he nodded again.

Bucky stepped back, but not enough to move his thigh or his hand, just enough to ease off some pressure. “Well then…” Bucky said, waiting. It was only then that Clint realized Bucky wanted him to push down his pants without dislodging his hand. “That’s it,” Bucky said, like he could tell the moment Clint understood. His eyes danced in the low bedroom light. “Lets see it then.” 

What blood wasn’t pooling south, shot to his cheeks but he still pushed his waistband down, one side and then the other. They caught on his hip, but Bucky didn’t lend a hand, just watched as Clint struggled to undress for him. 

“Very good,” Bucky finally said when he was standing there, hard, in his boxer briefs and t-shirt. “All that would make this better is some purple, nitrile gloves, huh?” 

Clint couldn’t gasp but he did feel his eyes widen as he tried to figure out when Bucky could’ve seen, how he would know. 

“Told JARVIS I’d pick up the groceries the week before last. Needed something to do to distract me from oblivious teammates and my endless stream of erotic memories.” His lips dragged against Clint’s ear again. “Pinned you to be their owner right away. Your blushing just helped prove my other theory correct.”

He was grateful Bucky’s hand on his mouth kept him from having to reply, but almost like he could read Clint’s mind, Bucky stepped back and let his hand drop. Clint felt immediately exposed and swallowed when Bucky gestured towards the bed. “After you?”

There was an honest question in Bucky’s words, a moment of checking in, of making sure this was something Clint wanted. 

This was  _ definitely  _ what Clint wanted. He pushed away from the wall and into Bucky's space, not quite touching before sashaying his hips over to the bed. “How do you want me?” he asked as he let the mattress hit his back, elbow-walking himself up to the top of the bed, losing his shirt on the way. 

Bucky didn’t answer, at least not with the words. Instead, he stripped his clothes and moved quickly, enhanced by superserum, and between one breath and the next, Clint had a warm hand pressed against his mouth again. His other was roaming up and down Clint’s side, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Before long, the hand on his face moved too, pressing two fingers in until his lips parted and they were able to slip into his mouth. Clint licked at them, but soon the fingers were demanding, flicking his tongue and pulling at his jaw. Bucky leaned closer. “I want you to suck on my fingers while I play with your cock. Does that sound good to you?”

Clint nodded around his fingers, and then Bucky proceeded to do exactly what he said he’d do. He had Clint moaning around his fingers from the second he slipped his hands passed the elastic band of his boxers and gripped his cock. The rough calluses on his skin pressed down on his tongue, forcing Clint to suck even harder. His cock throbbed in Bucky’s metal hand once before Bucky pulled back. Leaving his fingers in Clint’s mouth, Bucky smirked and watched for a moment as Clint sucked. As if he’d seen his fill, Bucky started to remove his fingers, dragging them along Clint’s lips roughly, so that the saliva trailed past them and onto his cheek. His smirk deepened as he reached for the drawer by the bed. Clint expected to see the lube but everything shuttered to a standstill when Bucky pulled out the familiar cardboard box.

“The--” Clint swallowed. “The nitrile gloves.”

“Yup.” He may’ve popped the P, he looked so satisfied. 

Clint had imagined this moment, Bucky with gloves, shortly after Bucky had started invading his fantasies. He was pulling on a purple glove, stretching it out so that he could put it over his metal hand. In his imagination, Clint was talking Bucky through it all. He never expected Bucky to know he’d want this, to devise and initiate a plan. It wasn’t until Bucky started chuckling that Clint realized he’d been staring. He didn’t stop, though, not when Bucky was reaching out for the lube and squirting it onto the nitrile covered metal hand. 

“Now, let’s see,” Bucky began, like they were having a conversation over slices of pizza, he sounded so casual. “I’ll have the gloved hand up your ass, and my other one around your cock. So tell me, how are we going to keep that mouth of yours all covered up?” 

Clint felt his face flush as his cock bounced against his stomach. He knew the answer, and he wanted it so bad--had for a while now--and Bucky knew. Better than that, he wanted this too, wanted to make Clint shift under his attention, wait for him to be able to say the word, say what he wanted and what he knew Bucky wanted to hear. “A--a gag.”

His smirk turned into a wide smile. “Good, exactly.” The praise caused a rush of warmth to follow, washing away any remaining embarrassment. Until Bucky added, “Reach in there and pull out the scarf, then tie it around your face.”

“M-Me?” Clint didn’t know why he asked, it was obvious, but he was pinned under Bucky’s gaze and didn’t know if he could move.

“I have a gloved hand full of lube. And, I can’t say I wouldn’t mind watching you tie yourself up for me.”

Right. That sounded hot. Clint could do that, he just had to stop staring at a naked, hard, Bucky Barnes wearing his favorite fucking purple accessory and a smirk. He reached into the drawer blind, feeling a soft satin fabric keeping his focus on Bucky, but his gaze was torn away when purple flashed in his periphery. 

“Thought you’d like the color.” Bucky chuckled, as smug as his smirk would call for. “Fold it into a gag, you know how.”

He did. He’d never told Bucky this, but apparently he didn’t need to hear it from Clint. He folded the satin square in half, then another half, until it was thin enough to fit between his teeth. He’d gagged himself during his exploration after that infamous tight hallway with Bucky, so it shouldn’t have felt like it was something brand new. But something about having Bucky’s eye on him, made the whole thing new again. 

Once the fabric was in his mouth and fixed behind his head, Clint fell back on his elbows, legs splaying on their own. He was ready, waiting, for Bucky to take over. And take over he did, he kneed himself onto the bed in between Clint’s legs, his hand coming to Clint’s cock between breaths. 

“Fuck, you look good,” Bucky said, rubbing his hands together so the lube spread between his hands. “Going to make you feel even better. If you want me to stop, just snap your fingers.” Then he was twisting his warm hand along the head of Clint’s cock, making him moan at the feel of skin on skin. He started a rhythm, certain and sure, so consuming that the feel of nitrile against his hole made him twitch with surprise. A muffled sound broke across the room and it took him a moment to realize it was his own words, broken by the gag. 

“Scream all you want,” Bucky whispered, a dark sound that caused a spark to run through his veins. “It’ll sound pretty against my gag, and no one will be able to hear it.” He punctuated the end of his sentence by slipping a finger into Clint’s hole. 

Clint’s eyes rolled back into his head as the feel of the nitrile stretching his hole became all-consuming. He’d done this so many times, alone in his room, thinking of Bucky--But to have him here, touching him, doing this, sliding another one in just a little too soon to make him hiss, just like he liked it. A string of  _ Bucky please, Bucky more, Bucky yes _ , was obstructed by the gag and it was perfect, the feel of Bucky’s warm hand stroking him while the nitrile stretched and pulled, the power of the metal fingers always there, a reminder of their strength. 

“I want to make you fall apart.”

Clint wanted to tell him that his dreams were about to come true, because he didn’t know how much longer he could last, especially when Bucky turned his hand and nailed his prostate dead on. Clint keened from behind the gag.

“Yes, that’s it, knew you’d look gorgeous like this. Always so guarded, always going a mile a minute, but look at you now, falling apart in my hands.” Bucky shifted, his hard cock pressing against Clint’s thigh and it was enough to make a bead of precome bubble from the tip of his cock, to know that Bucky was that hot for him, that hard. “Going to get you off so good, and then I’m going to fill you up with my come.”

He wanted to shout, warn that it wouldn’t be long, that he’d be going off soon from the way that Bucky was stroking over and over against his prostate. He wanted to beg, for Bucky to speed up the hand on his cock, to give him the impressive cock that’d been teasing him with each drip of precome against his inner thigh, his hip, along Clint’s own cock when Bucky shifted, and evil tint dancing in his eyes. 

“Keep talking,” Bucky taunted. “Love to hear you struggle. It sounds like you want some _ thing _ .” He emphasized his sentence but pressing into his prostate, hard. “But I can’t hear you, sweet thing, what is it you’re saying?” 

He whined as Bucky removed his hand, making his hole clench and gape around too much emptiness. There was a moment, and then, right when his cock slipped beyond the rim of his hole, he bent over, pressing his nitrile gloved hand over his mouth, over the gag, making them moan in unison as Bucky bottomed out. 

Bucky looked glorious on top of him, arched over just enough to keep his hand over Clint’s mouth. His face was flushed and his hair damp with sweat. Every thrust of his hips another jerk into a place deep inside Clint. The mix of nitrile and gag and Bucky and  _ fuck _ , he mumbled against his hand, the reverberating vibration chasing down Clint’s cheeks as screamed how close he was. 

“You feel so good, so tight. Fuck, Clint, gagged up so pretty for me. You want it so bad, don’t you babe?” His hips stuttered, like he was close too and the thought was the last straw, before Clint was spilling over the edge, clenching around Bucky’s cock hard, and painting his stomach with come. 

“Yes, Clint, fu--” And Bucky was following him over the edge. Hot spurts coating Clint from inside and his spent cock gave a feeble twitch at the thought as Bucky collapsed, face pressed into Clint’s shoulder. 

Clint mumbled around the gag, bringing his hand up to run through long black strands while Bucky caught his breath. Clint almost thought he’d orgasmed his way into unconsciousness until a trail of light kisses against his pec turned in a hand running up his check, along his neck, until they blindly tugged at the gag. “So good,” Bucky said between kisses. “Knew it’d be.”

Clint stretched his jaw, shifting until he could catch Bucky’s eye. He couldn’t help himself, even through his afterglow. “Thought about this a lot, huh?”

Bucky snorted. “No more than you.”

“Hah.” Clint ducked his head until he could catch his lips and whisper, “True,” against them. “Doing was even better than thinking.”

Bucky grinned. “Very true.”


	5. Chapter 5

Surprisingly, things didn’t change much between them after they actually had sex, and Clint found himself wondering why he thought they would. Maybe it was because people treated everything having to do with the sex as a taboo and everything surrounding the Winter Soldier as a bomb waiting to explode, like at any moment he was going to lash out or be triggered into a flashback. It had gotten better as time went on, and more of the tower’s occupants had grown used to Bucky, and Bucky had gotten used to them. But Steve still fretted and Natasha still observed.

Today was no different.

Stark’s bots hovered overhead, ready to attack when Cap made the signal. Bucky was on Clint’s six, shoulders stiff and brow furrowed with focus. The team was trying to integrate him into full-fledged battle, as opposed to small, one-off missions that he handled relatively well when partnered with Steve or Natasha or Clint. This was day one. 

“Bruce,” Steve began, Cap tone in full force. “You stay down here and focus on keeping calm. Nat you’re on the ground with me. Buck, you’re up top with Hawkeye.”

They both nodded, and Cap continued giving his orders as the robots came alive with fake bullets and lasers. Around them was a simulated city street, and Clint booked it to the nearest fire escape, Bucky on his tail. Bucky reached it first, and Clint watched him take the first rung of the ladder when Iron Man appeared by his side, lifting him up to the roof and touching him down right as Bucky reached the top of the fire escape. 

“Beat ya,” Clint said with a grin and a wink, as Iron Man flew off after a handful of robots. Clint knew they were supposed to be Very Serious™ during training, but a part of him was giddy. He’d been wanting to get in the field with Bucky again since they were pressed up close together chasing after people from the bar. 

“Beat me? Like hell--” There was a loud bang and across the room a few robots had cornered Steve as Natasha seemed to be rerouting hologramed civilians at Cap’s orders. Bucky sent Clint a glare before dropping into position with his sniper rifle. He glanced at Clint from over his shoulder. “I’ll show you who beats who.”

Clint winked at him again before lowering onto the perch laughing. “Sounds kinky.” Over the comms, Nat snorted. 

“Chatter,” Steve cut in. “Assistance please.”

“Innuendo laden chatter,” Tony added. “You know that’s my favorite, Cap. I’m on my way.”

“That wasn’t--” Clint imagined Steve shutting his mouth mid-sentence. “Focus team. We’re here to train. And for god's sake, back up.”

“I’m coming--” Tony words were interrupted by two bullets flying from the rooftop to explode into the back of the heads of the robots surrounding Steve. “Nevermind,” he continued with a laugh. “Looks like buddy Bucky’s got your back.”

“He’s good that way,” Clint decided to add, and he immediately regretted it because silence greeted him on the line for a moment.

“...Yeah,” Steve replied. “He is.”

“Aw, come on Stevie, no need to get possessive. There’s plenty of me to go around.”

“Is there?” Nat’s voice crowed through the line. “Because I could use some backup here from either of our snipers, but they seem too busy flirting like it’s Sunday brunch.”

Clint released three shots in Nat’s direction; the robots weak spots were easy bulls-eyes for his arrows. 

“Nice shooting,” Bucky mumbled, they were close enough for Clint to pick up the softly spoken words. Clint nodded, the sincerity throwing him after everyone’s teasing, taking him back to when they were in bed and Bucky was whispering other, more intimate words in his ear. 

Clint shook his head to get back into the training battle, and soon enough the team worked to bring the robots downs. “We surrender,” their makeshift leader announced. The few robots that stayed standing fell to the ground and one by one the Avengers gathered in the center of the training center, the simulation fading into a large cement room. 

“Not bad,” Steve said, his Cap voice clearly about to lay out a series of criticisms. Iron Man flew too high, Natasha left herself open to save the civilians, too much chatter from everyone. 

“I think there was a surprisingly large amount of chatter from the usual monosyllabic-soldier over here,” Clint teased, the rush of a successful training still coursing through his system as they left the gym. 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “False.”

“True.”

As they headed towards the locker rooms, it was like Bucky had stepped even closer to him, was invading his space, but Clint knew it probably had more to do with how in tune he was with Bucky’s location these days. “You’re clearly the chatterbox Hawkeye, don’t make me cover that beak of yours.”

Iron Man snorted and Clint laughed too, but it was a weak one buried under an untimely blush. Just the thought of Bucky covering his mouth...He could feel Nat’s gaze on him. Steve’s too. No one said anything, though. 

Until the next morning, that was. 

Natasha cornered him in the elevator. 

“You’re fucking the Winter Soldier.”

“Hello, and good day to you,” Clint said through a yawn. “Is it interrogation o’clock?”

Nat narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “Elevator, stop,” she said, not replying, as the elevator came to a stop.

Clint groaned. “Nat you’re standing between me and my Wheaties.” 

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

He let his head bang against the metal wall as he leaned across from Nat. “And what am I doing--? Oh, right. Fucking the Winter Soldier. Of course I know what I’m doing. Best fucking orgasm I’ve had in my life, if that’s the kind of details you’re looking for.”

Nat didn’t curl her lip or roll her eyes, but Clint could tell she wanted to, so he added, “And he’s the one that fucked me,” just to be an ass. 

“You guys be safe?”

“Safe, sane and consensual.” He held up his hand in a double fingers salute. “Want to hear about how he made me beg so good, too?”

Natasha snorted, shaking her head. “As long as you got a safeword.”

“You know me, I’m great with my fingers. For when he’s got me gagged,” Clint said, snapping as an example.

Natasha hummed. “In deep, huh?”

He could read between the lines, knew that she was just making sure he remembered to be smart, reminding him that she was there for him. But he didn’t need it. With Bucky, he felt safe. 

“Elevator, go,” Clint said. It whirred back to life, and he pinned Nat with a know-it-all grin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

~~~

Only a few hours later, Clint was back in the elevator. When it stopped on not-his-floor, he started to consider that maybe it was time to begin taking the stairs. But then the doors opened and Bucky slid. His hair looked wild, like he’d been running his fingers through it. 

“Steve cornered me,” Bucky said as the doors shut. 

Clint sighed and pointed at the center of his own chest. “Nat. Me. Guess the cat's out of the bag.”

“Seems like it.” A moment paused between them, the numbers flew by as they climbed the tower. “Fine by me,” Bucky added.

“Yeah.” Clint swallowed. “Me too.” 

Bucky stepped closer. “Elevator, stop.” 

For the second time that day, the elevator stopped with Clint in it, but with the way Bucky’s eyes were flashing he knew this time it’d be _ way _better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The working title for this chapter was, "Teams Like Whaaa" and I just wanted to share that with you all. :D 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Last chapter will be up next week.


	6. Chapter 6

With Bucky, everything felt amazing. The way his arms snuck around Clint in the middle of the night, the way he hovered too close when they were at the range together. His mouth, his hands. He played Clint like an instrument, one that he never tired discovering knew melodies with, like his sole purpose was to take Clint to new heights. From a hand pressed over Clint’s mouth, to gags; Bucky loved keeping his hands free to further drive Clint crazy. From there, it was a quick evolution to Clint on his knees, gag connected to a rope to the headboard, or Clint moaning against a mouth full of fabric, wondering what Bucky would come up with next. 

Clint wasn’t alone in this wonder either. It seemed like every suggestion Clint made, every new position or location or toy he brought to the table sparked a subtle shine behind Bucky’s sleet-gray gaze that seemed to scream out to Clint, even if it barely changed Bucky's outward expression. Then Clint brought out the leather panel gag, with its tight neoprene head and muzzle attachment, and waited. 

Finally he got more of a reaction than flashing eyes. Bucky sucked air between his teeth. “Clint…”

“Is it too much? Too…?”

“Too... Winter Soldier?” Bucky supplied, gaze never leaving mask.

“Fuck if you’re going to go right out and say it.” Clint ran his finger over the soft, firm leather. “It’s--I never--Fuck this is so fucked up, but I always found that mask hot as fuck. Is that messed up? That’s messed up.”

“No, no,” Bucky assured, coming to pull Clint closer to him on the bed. “With how much you like me pressing my hand--or anything, for that matter--against your mouth, I get it.” He shrugged, smirking. “We could probably make a better memory than any that I currently have, when it comes to masks like that.” 

They did use it that night, and it was all they said about it. But the seed was planted and that was enough. The next time, it was Bucky who brought it up and Clint was more than on board, even if Bucky was already inside of him, two fingers snug in a nitrile glove, keeping the joints between the plates from snagging Clint’s tight hole. 

Clint knew Bucky was aware of how the slide of lubed-up nitrile drove Clint absolutely crazy, knew that every brush against his prostate was building him higher and higher. His muscles tensed, thighs clenching together, ass tightening around Bucky’s fingers. “Going to come,” he hissed, but instead of Bucky relenting, moving on and pulling out his fingers so that he could replace it with his cock, he kept going, unrelenting as he pounded Clint’s prostate with his index finger. 

Clint moaned, shifting under Bucky, trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure. Bucky was over him, gray eyes dancing as they watched Clint struggle to hold on. “Well then,” Bucky said. “I’m waiting.” And Clint went off like a light, long stripes of come decorating his stomach. 

“Fuck, Buck, that was so good.” His eyes fell closed and he heard Bucky’s rough laugh.

“Oh, honey, we’re just getting started.” His fingers slipped out, leaving him loose and open and ready for Bucky’s cock, which he lubed up and slid right in, while Clint tried to catch his breath. “Feel so good.” Bucky slammed his hips into Clint, every thrust ricocheting the haze of his orgasm with the building of new pleasure. “Going to make you come again on my cock, and then it’s time for your treat.” 

The thought of coming again made Clint’s cock twitch, and the way Bucky took him hard and fast made his cock start to harden again, pressing between their hard stomachs. 

“Treat?” he asked between thrusts, but Bucky only twisted his hips and nailed his prostate again in reply, as if the only way Clint would be able to learn more about the surprise, was if he followed Bucky’s order and came again. That wouldn’t be too difficult, since Bucky’s nitrile covered hand found his cock and started to stroke. 

“I’m going to fill you up and make you come all over yourself again. How does that sound?”

“G-good,” Clint slurred, pleasure making him float to a place where only Bucky--his cock, his hands, his filthy words--existed. 

“Damn, you look good under me. I’m close.” His hips stuttered. Clint loved making him lose control. “Going to make you filthy.” 

Clint wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but was too blissed out to care, so when after the next thrust he pulled out, Clint whined at the loss. That was until he looked down their bodies, and saw Bucky stroking them both, nitrile covered hand around Clint while the other sped across Bucky’s cock. 

“Like what you see?”

Clint nodded, head rolling back in pleasure.

“There’s more.” Bucky gasped. But before Clint could ask what Bucky meant, he blinked his eyes open to see Bucky, waving a leather mask in front of Clint’s face. Clint moaned, fingers twisting into the sheets and Bucky went off without warning, coating a layer of come over the one that Clint had left earlier. “Oh god, I’m dead,” Clint said, after a beat of silence.

“Not yet.” Bucky sat up on the bed after catching his breath, reaching over to grab a leather mask from Clint’s darkest fantasies that had fallen to the bed during his orgasm. Bucky ran it between his fingers. He pulled lightly at each end, examining its strength, then met Clint’s gaze again, tracing a finger down his jaw. “You want this on you, baby?”

Words caught in Clint’s throat, so he nodded instead. 

“And--” Clint cut himself off, dropping his eyes back to the bed.

“Tell me,” Bucky ordered, soft and firm, and Clint felt it run down his spine. 

“There’s a cloth, too. To fill up my mouth...”

Bucky’s smirked. “Oh, babydoll, that dirty mouth of yours, driving me wild. The things you think of, they light me on fire.” He lifted the mask. 

Clint wanted to laugh, wanted to moan, wanted to cry out for Bucky to move it  _ along  _ because he was hard and wanting, and Bucky was giving, and he had never been one for patience. “Please, Buck, I have a scarf in my pocket.” He gestured to his pile of clothes and Bucky went over to get it. As soon as he was gone from the bed the cold rush of air hit the cooling come on his stomach. Dirty, filthy, all for Bucky. He felt used in a way that lit up his body, made him feel wanted and loved.

“Look at you, all prepared.” Bucky took the scarf and leaned back onto the bed. 

Clint was fully hard still, and wished Bucky’s hand was back on him but knew that something else was coming. “You like what you see?” Clint asked rubbing at the spend on his stomach.

Bucky chuckled, dark and so sexy Clint knew he’d be thinking about it for weeks to come. “You know I do.” He shuffled to the end of the bed, dropping a leg on either side of Clint. He looked down at him like he had all the time in the world to admire.

Clint couldn’t keep his gaze from the mask, he bit his lip and barely noticed the whine that slipped out until Bucky smirked again. 

“Someone’s impatient. Can’t even wait until I’m ready, what am I going to do with you?” Even as he finished, he was balling up the scarf, putting out into the space between them. Clint looked past the fisted fabric to Bucky’s gaze, met it dead on as he parted his lips. Bucky’s eyes darkened and he licked his lips as his eyes traced Clint’s mouth like a caress. Clint wondered if he even knew he was doing it, he was so focused on Clint.

When the scarf settled against his tongue, Clint moaned and closed his mouth. Bucky smirked at it then lifted the mask. “This next.”

Clint nodded, even though it wasn’t a question. His cock stood hard and proud now in the open air between them, and Bucky’s focus dropped to it when it twitched in delight.

“I’d put my palm against those pouty lips of yours, ensure that scarf keeps you quiet, but then I wouldn’t be able to do this.” His hands came around and ran along his bare chest, one sliding up to cup along his collarbones and the other sliding down over his cock.

“Mmmm,” Clint breathed around the scarf. 

“I know.” Bucky’s hot breath hit his ear and sent a wave of goosebumps down his neck and spine. “You want it so bad, don’t you?” He brought the mask up, let it hover a breath away from his face. It was like time suspended and Clint wanted, desperately, to feel the pressure against his face, to know it was holding him, constricting him--a whine slipped out from around the scarf. “You sound like you like it.” 

Clint moaned and gasped and pleaded, all of it muffled and contorted by the cloth. But then the leather panel slid into place, a cold, firm, pressure against his mouth, and Clint’s eyes rolled back in his head with the pleasure of it all. The weight of it against his face was enough to put him over the edge again, coming over their mixed spend. 

The next thing he knew, Bucky was sitting out in front of him on the bed, one leg on the edge of either side of him, palming his own cock as he watched Clint settle behind the mask. 

“Beautiful,” Bucky murmured. Then he crawled over Clint again, running his fingers along where the mask met his flushed cheeks. “If you need anything, tap me three times in quick succession,” Bucky said, when Clint blinked open his eyes. “Tap me now so I know you understand me.” 

Clint’s body was thrumming with the heat of anticipation, he was ready to follow anywhere Bucky wanted to take him. He tapped him three times.

“Good. Now where were we?” Bucky slid back inside of Clint, using his one hand to brace himself on the bed, while the nitrile covered one resumed his torment over Clint’s oversensitive cock. 

It was a rush of sensation, too much pleasure but all he wanted was more. Bucky was so hard again, fucking him with earnest, a litany of filthy praise falling from his mouth. Every thrust hit him just where he needed and though he’d come countless times already, the feel of it all, the heavy weight of Bucky’s cock inside him, the feel of the mask pressing into his skin, the cloth filling his mouth--Clint didn’t think it was possible to come again, but then Bucky peeled off his nitrile glove and brought his metal hand over the mask and pressed down. Hard. and Clint lost his mind. Every nerve ending under his skin came alive and coalesced into one full body orgasm. Clint shook and writhed as Bucky kept thrusting, following after him sometime between Clint whiting out from pleasure and reemerging into the conscious world. 

Bucky had a smug smile on his face. “Never seen you come so hard.”

Clint laughed, muffled under the mask, body still tingling. 

A gentle hand reached around Clint’s head and unfastened the mask. He missed the pressure immediately, but still spit of cloth out of his mouth and stretched his cheeks a few times by opening and closing his mouth. “That’s prob’ly cause I’ve never come so hard in my damn life,” Clint replied, when he finally crashed down next to Bucky on the bed. 

“Oh?”

“Oh, indeed.”

Bucky hummed.

“What?”

“Oh nothing, thinking,” he said, as he pulled Clint close. “Guess I’ve gotta beat this record I’ve just set. Challenge accepted.”

Clint rolled his eyes, but didn’t contradict him. “And what about after that?”

“Guess I’ll have to beat that one too.” Bucky leaned close. “And the next, and the next. For as long as you’ll let me.”

Even though he was entirely drained, Clint buzzed with happiness at the thought of being with Bucky for the long-term, having something real, something that made him feel alive in ways he never had before. Exhausted, happy and spent, he still had enough energy to pull Bucky even closer. “That sounds like a great plan to me.”

“Good,” Bucky said, before kissing him breathless. 

_ fin _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to heuradys and Marvel Trumps Hate 2018 for inspiring this fic. And thank you, for coming along on this kinky adventure!


End file.
